


Flawless

by giraffeter



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: Beyoncé References, Concerts, Gen, fae teen club, toby is a terrible chaperone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffeter/pseuds/giraffeter
Summary: “Anyway,” Stacy said, “Andrew’s covered in blisters, and I can barely go near him, so Mitch needs to stay home and take care of us, which means…”“...Which means you can’t take the kids to the concert,” I finished for her, not liking the direction the conversation was going. I already knew what Stacy was about to ask.“Can you and Tybalt take the kids?” she asked. “I really don’t like the idea of them going alone, they’re so young, and Dean and Raj are barely ever around humans.”“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not buying them T-shirts.”***Toby and Tybalt take the Fae Teen Club to a concert. But because this is Toby's life, nothing is ever actually that simple. Takes place betweenOnce Broken FaithandThe Brightest Fell.





	Flawless

San Francisco fills up with human tourists in the summer, and all of them complain about having their California vacations ruined by the cold, drizzly weather. Once the spring rain and summer fog blow out of town (taking disgruntled Midwesterners in emergency-purchased “I Heart SF” sweatshirts with them), though, our autumns are beautiful. As September waxes toward my namesake month, the sun finally appears and wildflowers sprout up in the most unexpected places. It’s breathtaking. Sometimes literally, if you have allergies.

Which is why I probably shouldn’t have been surprised to get a call from my friend Stacy in late September, sounding as if she were breathing through a mesh strainer.

“It’s the red valerian,” she wheezed. “It always comes up this time of year, and Andrew and I both ended up going through a patch on our hike the other day.”

Being a changeling typically means you don’t get sick - with regular human ailments like colds and the flu, anyway. Unfortunately, fae blood can mean sensitivity to the magical and medicinal properties of all kinds of vegetation that humans blithely plant wherever they please. It’s rarely dangerous, but it’s frequently annoying.

“Anyway,” Stacy said, “Andrew’s covered in blisters, and I can barely go near him, so Mitch needs to stay home and take care of us, which means…”

“...Which means you can’t take the kids to the concert,” I finished for her, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

Stacy and Mitch were supposed to be taking their daughter Karen and her friends to a concert at SAP Center tomorrow night. Karen had been talking about it for ages. I don’t listen to much popular music - I missed too much when I was in the pond, and everything made after about 1997 just sounds weird to me - but when Quentin heard who she was going to see, he just about combusted with excitement. The next thing I knew, Quentin, his boyfriend Dean, and his best friend Raj had all pooled what human money they had to get tickets. It was going to be a regular Fae Teen Club Excursion, and I was supposed to get to spend an entire evening with nobody hogging the remote or stealing the last slice of pizza.

I already knew what Stacy was about to ask.

“Can you and Tybalt take the kids?” she asked. “I really don’t like the idea of them going alone, they’re so young, and Dean and Raj are barely ever around humans.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have a hard time picturing Tybalt at a rock concert.”

Stacy snorted, which sounded especially gross through her stuffy nose. “Tybalt saw Shakespeare at the Globe, he can go to one concert. Besides, Beyoncé’s not rock music, she’s like...something else.” Bizarrely, Stacy’s voice took on a faraway, dreamlike quality. “You should go, Toby, I think you’ll really like her music.”

I winced. Thing is, we both already knew I was going to say yes. I’d missed out on Karen’s entire childhood while I was busy being a fish; Stacy had a whole stack of honorary-aunt IOUs she could cash in at this point from all those missed birthdays and piano recitals. Some people might argue that I had wiped that slate clean when I rescued Karen from imprisonment by a murderous Firstborn - hell, Stacy herself might argue that - but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got a long way to go before I’ve made up for that lost time.

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not buying them T-shirts.”

***

As soon as the sun went down the next evening, Karen was knocking on my door. She was wearing a red dress with strategic cutouts that emphasized her narrow waist; her face was made up to highlight her big gray eyes and downplay the usual pallor of her skin. I shouldn’t have been surprised - when we were kids, Stacy was always the one to go to for makeup tips - but it was still a shock to see her daughter looking so grown up.

“You’re not wearing that,” Karen said, breezing past me into the living room.

I looked down at the jeans and black T-shirt I had thrown on when I woke up, approximately 20 minutes earlier. Almost all my clothes are black and practical; since I tend to bleed all over everything I own anyway, I don’t see much point in keeping up with trends. “Why can’t I wear this?”

Karen just rolled her eyes. “Come on, Auntie Birdie. I brought some stuff you can borrow.”

By the time Raj and Tybalt arrived, Karen had not only strong-armed me into a new outfit, she had also draped me in gold jewelry and given me a dramatic new makeup look. I was still blinking extra eyeliner out of my eyes when I opened the door.

Tybalt smirked when he saw my shirt. Raj, lacking his uncle’s courtly manners, guffawed out loud.

“While I don’t think anyone here would disagree with the sentiment, my dear,” Tybalt murmured, “one could argue that the expression lacks subtlety.”

Karen had put me in a wide-necked black top that threatened to fall off of one shoulder or the other at any moment; across the chest in white letters it said I SLAY.

“Shut up,” I muttered, letting them both into the house. “Apparently, this is what you wear to these things.”

Tybalt’s black poet’s shirt was unlaced at the neck, showcasing the strong lines of his throat and jaw; his black leather pants left little doubt about his powerful physique. A more delicately-constructed man might have looked like a dandy in the ensemble, but Tybalt carried himself with an aloof, disreputable air that made him look more like a pirate captain who had wandered in from the wrong dock - and the wrong century.

Damn him. Whatever fae gene it is that makes you look amazing in whatever you put on, I did not inherit it. Even Karen couldn’t find fault with Tybalt’s look. She gave him a frank once-over, said “It’s a little Dread Pirate Roberts, but I think we can make it work,” and left him alone (I didn’t bother trying to explain the reference; dating a 500-year-old Cait Sidhe monarch means there are too many holes in his pop culture knowledge for me to ever fill).

“You should probably get going,” May called from the kitchen, where she and her girlfriend Jazz were making cookies. My erstwhile Fetch had been all too happy to steal my long-awaited night in. “It’s about an hour to San Jose, and that’s when traffic’s good.”

Tybalt and Raj both raised their heads and looked at me, startled. Tybalt’s ears slicked back for a moment before he could compose himself. “An hour...in the car?” Raj asked carefully. “You’re driving us?”

“Unless you know a better way to get to San Jose,” I said, trying not to get huffy. I am a fine driver - certainly a better driver than any of the people currently regarding me with horror. When nobody’s trying to kill me, anyway. Heroes of the realm can’t really get reliable insurance.

“I can drive,” Quentin volunteered quickly.

Beside him, Dean paled. “No,” he said, patting Quentin’s knee, “you can’t.”

“The last time I checked, no one here was Tuatha de Dannan,” I said, “and there are way too many of us to take the Shadow Roads.”

Tybalt flicked an ear at me, but didn’t disagree. I felt bad asking this of him - cats don’t like riding in cars, as a rule, and Tybalt has the added disadvantage of being several hundred years old. As far as he’s concerned, cars are a relatively recent (and downright unsettling) invention. He’s gotten better about it since we’ve been together, but riding in the car still freaks him out.

“Last chance to bail,” I whispered in his ear as we trooped out to the car.

“As if I would,” he smiled. “Lead the way.”

***

We made it to San Jose in decent time, and found parking without too much trouble. I gave a handful of autumn leaves to the parking attendant, saying, “Georgie porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry.” He accepted them with a stunned look. I couldn’t even feel that bad about cheating him - not when he was spending the evening doing nothing but stand next to a sign reading, “Event Parking $20.”

I pulled into a spot and turned to survey my passengers. Tybalt had spent most of the ride as a burly tabby curled up in the front seat; it was a good thing we hadn’t gotten pulled over, as I wouldn’t have enjoyed explaining why I made all the kids ride in the back while my cat rode shotgun.

Quentin was wearing a black sleeveless shirt that I suspected he’d borrowed from Karen. It looked like he hadn’t been able to escape her eyeliner mission, either, although with his high Daoine Sidhe cheekbones he managed to look like a model, whereas I was pretty sure I just looked like someone’s drunk prom date. Dean, as always, looked a little out of place - growing up on the bottom of the ocean, he had even less idea about current fashion trends than most fae kids do - but had scrounged up a brightly-patterned shirt from somewhere.

The rangy Abyssinian kitten that had been curled up in Dean’s lap stretched, yawned, and abruptly became Raj, who had imitated his uncle’s all-black ensemble but in more of a jeans-and-t-shirt way. The other kids good-naturedly griped at him, shifting around until he was no longer kicking anybody.

“OK everybody,” I said, trying for my best I’m In Charge Here tone, “human disguises on. Once we’re in there, try to stay with the group.”

The arena was thronged with people. It was the biggest crowd I’d been part of in some time, and growing bigger by the minute.

The fae make their finery out of insect wings, flowers, leaves, spiders’ webs; all the beauty nature has to offer, harnessed by magic and crafted into wearable works of art. The clothing on display at the arena hadn’t had the benefit of magic, but was still an impressive array: sequins, lace, mesh, leather, sparkles galore. I was starting to see what Karen had meant about my outfit. Tybalt’s leather pants blended in better than I had expected.

The kids were using Quentin’s phone to take several pictures of themselves in front of the marquee. I wished, not for the first time in my life, that the fae could live more openly in the world. It would be nice for them to have a picture of this moment without their disguises in place, pulling the bronze from Quentin’s hair and the green from Dean’s, rounding Karen’s face and ears, darkening Raj’s brilliant green eyes.

Still, their human disguises didn’t cover up the excitement they felt, the way Quentin leaned into Dean’s arm around his shoulders, the way Karen was chattering a mile a minute. Even Raj, who had been trying to cultivate an air of lofty detachment as he assumed more responsibilities in the Court of Cats, kept forgetting himself as the four of them speculated on what tonight’s performer would wear, the songs she would sing.

I leaned into Tybalt’s warm bulk with a sigh. These kids had been through so much in the past few years. Growing up in Faerie is never easy, but it’s been harder on the four of them than most. I try not to think about the ways in which I’m responsible for that; everyone in my orbit seems to be drawn into danger, despite my best efforts, and there’s not a kid among them who hasn’t been close to death on my watch. Tonight, though, nobody was trying to kill us or kidnap us or overthrow any local monarchs that I was aware of. Tonight we could all have a little fun, the way kids do.

We made our way to our seats, bodies crushing in on us from all sides. I fought down a rising wave of panic. I don’t like being hemmed in so closely; it feels too much like being underwater. I calmed myself by finding the exits, figuring out how far away we were (too far) and how many obstacles stood in between (too many). Next, I surveyed the crowd. The air smelled like perfume, sweat, fried food, cigarette smoke - I’d have trouble catching the scent of fae blood in this throng, but the people I could see looked reassuringly human. Nevertheless, I touched my hand to the silver knife at my belt - it had taken some illusion work to hide it from security, but I was glad to have a weapon.

I glanced at Tybalt and saw him taking stock of our position in much the same way. He looked surprisingly calm, but I knew he’d be ready to fight the moment something threatened us. He caught my eye and grinned, his teeth looking blunt and strange under the illusion masking them.

Finally, the lights dimmed. The noise around us grew and crested in a giant wave of sound. The screen behind the stage lit up with scenes of old buildings and dancers dressed in white. Dancers in the same white costumes processed across the stage, reverently carrying a crown toward a woman dressed as a queen, silhouetted against the bright screen. Beside me, the kids whooped in approval.

I tried not to fidget. Beautiful as the scene was, it reminded me disconcertingly of the court of the false Queen of the Mists; the same pageantry, the same flair for drama. Even the steps of the dance reminded me of performers I’d seen there, although these dancers lacked the otherworldly grace of the fae. It’s hard to thrill at the sight of a fairy-tale queen when you’ve seen the real deal, and had her sentence you to death on a whim.

The dancers reached their queen and set the crown on her head. The music changed, picking up a militant beat, as the lights came up and we saw her for the first time. She stood there a few moments as the crowd went wild, her flowing hair blowing in an invisible breeze, her doe-like eyes gazing out over her devotees, a serene smile playing about her lips.

She began to strut out onto the stage, dancers falling into sync around her. In the flashing lights, her brown skin was poreless, perfect. The sequined gown she wore seemed to flow around the curves of her body without ever touching her. I felt my breath catch. The fae are no more immune to beauty than anyone else, and this woman was beautiful.

Marching and gyrating into the spotlight, she began to sing. Her voice was smooth, rich, compelling - it seemed to stir the blood in my veins. With great effort, I forced my eyes shut. I found Tybalt’s hand and squeezed it, hard. Keeping my face turned away from the stage, I risked opening my eyes in time to see him shoot me a questioning look. Turning to look at the humans around us, I saw that they were all watching the stage, rapt, some clutching their hearts or their mouths in awe, some screaming their goddess’ name.

_“My persuasion can build a nation_   
_Endless power, with our love we can devour_

_“You’ll do anything for me,”_ she purred, and the crowd roared their agreement.

I waited until the end of the song, staring at the floor, my heart pounding, my throat dry. “I need to talk to you,” I shouted in Tybalt’s ear above the chaos. I pulled him through the crowd and out to the concourse area, where the bathrooms were.

“What’s going on?” he asked, exasperated. “What’s so important you immediately drag me out of this concert we drove all the way out here to see?” He must have seen something in my face. His body language changed, coming alert with dangerous, predatory agility. He put a protective hand on my shoulder. “October? What is it? What did you see?”

“We have to do something,” I gulped. “There’s no way that woman is human.”

***

It’s happened before. The fae have been living alongside humans for thousands of years: everything’s happened before. Most of the time, fae who play faerie bride amuse themselves for a decade or two and then rejoin fae society like nothing happened (of course, many of them return dragging changeling offspring behind them, but in the eyes of fae society, “had a changeling child” is synonymous with “nothing happened”). Every so often, though, someone decides that it might be nice to be worshipped.

It’s not hard for someone with command of illusion and persuasion to convince people to love them. The best-case scenario was someone using their fae-given talents to achieve fame and fortune, as this Beyoncé woman appeared to be doing, but there have also been a number of nasty little fae-led cults and religions over the years. When humans figure out they’ve been duped and enchanted, they tend to turn on their false gods. That way comes the rowan, the torches, the chains of iron.

Amassing this level of fame risked exposing us all. Like I said, torches. What Beyoncé was doing wasn’t just in poor taste; it was treason.

I spent the rest of the concert pacing anxiously in the concourse, unwilling to risk falling back under her spell. Tybalt put in the earplugs he’d brought in case the concert got too loud for his sensitive Cait Sidhe ears and went to tell the kids the concert was too crowded for us, and we’d meet them at their seats after the show. I hated leaving them exposed like that, but convincing them to leave the concert would draw too much attention to us. If we were going to stop this woman, we would have to be crafty.

“What do you want to do?” Tybalt asked simply, upon his return.

“I need to get closer to her,” I said. “I need to know exactly what we’re up against, and for that I need to be able to smell her blood.”

“If she’s as powerful as you think, she’s probably got some serious muscle with her,” Tybalt pointed out. “Perhaps we should enlist some backup of our own. Sylvester has an army at his disposal, and I’m sure Queen Windermere would be happy to supplement our ranks.”

I shook my head. “They’d say there’s no proof.” I wasn’t on the best terms with my liege lord, and wasn’t about to call him for a favor until I was 100% sure I needed it, and I was damn sure not going to call the Queen without some kind of evidence.

“I’d offer my own forces, but this is a matter for the Divided Courts to settle,” he said with a touch of regret.

“I’m not asking anyone to risk their lives until we understand what we’re dealing with here,” I said. “I just need to get close enough to taste her blood in the air.” Even that wouldn’t have been enough proof for some of the fae nobility - the word of a changeling knight doesn’t always go very far - but it would be enough for the Queen to justify launching her own investigation. Knowing my luck, I’d be the one heading it.

Tybalt sighed. “So we’re looking at your standard, ‘charge in alone, armed only with a knife’ October Daye approach?”

“I’m not alone,” I pointed out sweetly. “You’re here.”

“Too true,” he admitted. “Along with a veritable bevy of half-grown children.”

I gritted my teeth. _You’ll do anything for me,_ she’d sung to a room full of victims - victims that included people I loved. We would see about that.

***

The kids were, needless to say, horrified.

“Are you sure about this, Aunt Birdie?” Karen protested. “I mean, it’s... _Beyoncé_.”

“I’m pretty sure, but not sure enough,” I admitted. “That’s why we need to get closer to her.”

“How are we going to do that?” Raj asked. “This entire arena is full of people who feel the same way right now.”

I outlined the basic plan Tybalt and I had come up with out on the concourse. It would involve a lot of illusion magic, and might result in a human security guard or two losing their jobs, but it would hopefully get us close enough to her to suss out the situation without tipping our hand.

Quentin looked glum as we made our way to the back of the arena. I dropped in beside him as we walked.

“Are you OK?” I asked, bumping him with my shoulder. Quentin was growing from the snotty little brat he’d been when I met him into a fine, brave young man, but he had a tendency to wear the world on his shoulders. I figured he was probably beating himself up for not spotting Beyoncé’s enchantments himself.

“I’m fine, just…” He sighed. “Try not to embarrass me in front of Beyoncé, OK?”

OK, so sometimes he’s still a brat.

The security guards at the stage door were fully human, thank Oberon, with not so much as a trace of faerie ointment around their eyes to help them see through illusions. It made sense: these guys probably worked for the arena, not for her.

Quentin held up a stack of fliers we’d picked up along the way. “Let my heart sing an old river song,” he sang in his startlingly clear tenor, “as we journey back where I belong, where the wind comes to say to the river each day, roll on…”

The guards’ faces went from surly and skeptical to a sort of placid daze. I don’t know if Quentin’s illusion showed them backstage passes or ID cards claiming we were the Premier of Canada’s personal entourage, but whatever the guards had seen, it said we were allowed to be here.

Once backstage, Quentin and Dean cast don’t-look-here spells on the group as a whole. As the only two members of the group with Daoine Sidhe blood, they’d have the easiest time maintaining the spell; as long as we stayed together and remained unobtrusive, no one would bother us, or even notice we were there.

The backstage area was a warren of hallways and tunnels leading off to various areas of the arena. People bustled back and forth, dismantling the complicated set and packing equipment, and not one of them gave us a second look. I opened my mouth, inhaling the air, but all I could smell was mortal sweat and mortal blood - if any members of Beyoncé’s crew were of the fae, their scent was drowned out by that of their human compatriots.

Stymied, I stopped walking, bringing our little party to an awkward halt. I could smell the steel and heather of Quentin’s magic as he labored to keep the don’t-look-here in place.

“I don’t know where to go next,” I admitted. My plan hadn’t accounted for not being able to find her.

Raj pointed to a group of people being carefully ushered through the backstage area by a woman with a clipboard. They were gazing around with undisguised awe, and each of them was clutching a tote bag bearing the name and slogan of the local pop music radio station. “What does that look like to you?” he asked, turning to me with a raised eyebrow.

I ruffled his hair, grinning. “That looks like a group of people who are about to meet Beyoncé.”

Silently, we attached ourselves to the back of the group and trailed them into the bowels of the arena. The woman with the clipboard led us to a room that seemed like it had been borrowed from a different building altogether, maybe a spa or a salon: white couches sat on top of a plush white rug, while vases of white flowers adorned a set of low white tables. The air smelled faintly of jasmine. It was utterly incongruous after the din and the fluorescent lights of the rest of the arena. The group of mortal fans oohed and ahhed.

Two burly security guards stood sentry at the door at the far end of the room. Judging by the logos on their jackets, they were private security, but I couldn’t smell any magic on them, and saw no faint glitter that might indicate a human disguise. Could this woman really be relying entirely on human security? If so, that might be a mark in our favor - maybe she didn’t have the numbers we’d initially feared.

Of course, getting shot by a human guard wouldn’t make any of us any less shot. I heal quickly, but getting shot still hurts like hell.

The six of us huddled at the back, trying not to attract anyone’s notice as the rest of the group - winners of some sort of radio contest, it appeared - exclaimed over our surroundings.

“Thirty humans, one room, two exits,” Tybalt muttered in my ear. “This situation has the potential to go very wrong.”

I grimaced, but had to agree. If a confrontation ensued between us and the fae imposter, the awestruck fans surrounding us could be collateral damage in a fight they’d barely be able to comprehend. I surveyed the group, nausea creeping faintly into my stomach. There was a girl who looked to be about thirteen, there with a woman who was obviously her mother. Just behind them stood several starry-eyed kids who couldn’t have been much older than Quentin.

“She’s coming!” the young girl squealed to her parents. I winced. When Karen was that age, her consciousness had been stolen away by Blind Michael, a power-mad Firstborn who stole fae and human children alike to fuel his wild Hunt. I’d killed Blind Michael, with silver and with iron, but Karen had never gotten that starry-eyed innocence back. I tightened my fist on the handle of my knife. I wasn’t going to let this little girl lose a part of herself to a fae creature who didn’t care if she lived or died. Whatever Beyoncé was playing at, it ended now.

“Listen,” I whispered to Tybalt. “If things look like they’re about to go south, get the kids out via the Shadow Roads. We can meet back at the car.”

“October - “ Tybalt started to protest, but the woman with the clipboard had appeared at the front of the room again; she was reading off a list of rules for the group to follow when meeting their idol. I had almost completely zoned out when she concluded, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for...BEYONCÉ!”

When Beyoncé glided into the room, I was momentarily swept off my feet again by her beauty, her grace. Even through what had to be a very impressive human-disguise illusion, she shone as luminous as a golden pearl against the all-white setting of the room. A calculated effect, no doubt, but a potent one. I opened my mouth to sniff the air again, mentally filtering out the familiar scents of Tybalt and the kids, but again, all I smelled were the wide and varied odors of a group of excited mortal people.

I caught Quentin’s eye and raised my eyebrows. As a Daoine Sidhe, he could assess people’s heritage by the smell of their blood too, although nowhere near as well as I could. He shook his head slightly. No luck.

“I need to get closer,” I muttered to Tybalt, and stepped forward into the receiving line before he could pull me back. Just a little closer, I thought, praying that her years of success would have lulled Beyoncé into a false sense of security. With any luck, she wouldn’t be on the lookout for anyone who could sniff out her little secret.

The line progressed, each step bringing me closer to her, each step bringing me no closer to answering the maddening question of her fae heritage. Finally, I stood before her.

“Nice to meet y’all,” she said softly, her voice mellifluous and steady. I took her proffered hand. Without meaning to - even though every instinct in my body was screaming at me not to - I raised my head and met her eyes.

Her palm was smooth and cool against mine. Triumphantly, I breathed her in, waiting for the puzzle pieces to click into place.

She smelled of sweat, and mint gum, and perfume. She smelled utterly, completely human.

I stared at her, stunned, my feet turning to lead in my sneakers. Her smile took on a kind, almost indulgent air. No doubt she was accustomed to fans occasionally being too starstruck to do more than goggle at her. Gently, she placed a palm on my shoulder and turned me to face the camera; sweetly, she inclined her head toward mine and smiled as the flash went off; calmly, she said “you take care, now,” and turned to greet the next fan.

I stumbled from the room, trusting the rest of my little band of would-be deposers to follow. Karen was the first to catch up with me. “Aunt Birdie?” Her voice was small, hesitant. “What happened?” I felt my cheeks flooding with shame as I turned to face her. Her first real concert, and I’d turned it into a reconnaissance mission to sniff out what turned to be just an exceptionally talented human woman.

Karen’s face, surprisingly, was full of sympathy. “Never mind,” she said, taking my arm. “It’s just how Beyoncé is, I’m sure she has that effect on lots of people.”

***

I spent the ride home enduring the affectionate but persistent teasing of my nearest and dearest.

“It’s good to know that you’re here to protect us from the wiles of pop music,” Quentin said.

“I’m sure it’s the kind of thing that could happen to anyone,” Dean interjected politely. “It’s almost certainly the kind of thing my mother would do. Of course,” he added, not quite suppressing his chuckle, “she does live on the bottom of the ocean, so she doesn’t have, er, a ton of experience with mortal concerts.”

“I can’t wait to hear what my mom says,” Karen added.

I groaned, eyeing her in the rear view mirror. “I don’t suppose we could keep this our little secret?” Stacy was my oldest friend, and was more than capable of ensuring I never heard the end of this.

“Oh, I already texted her,” Karen replied with a too-nonchalant air. “Should I not have?”

I glanced over at the passenger seat, where Tybalt sat curled up in cat form. He blinked up at me with his malachite-banded eyes, and fixed me with the sort of smug expression you only see on a cat. “Shut up,” I told him, and he yawned and licked a paw with lofty unconcern.

When we arrived back home, the kids immediately raced into the house in competition for who could tell May and Jazz about our little escapade first. Tybalt hopped out of the car, wound around my ankles a few times, and flowed gracefully into the form of a man.

I rested my forehead against his chest, as much to keep from having to look him in the eye as anything else. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him smirking at me.

“So,” I mumbled into his shirt. “That happened.”

His laugh started in his chest, bubbling over and out into the night, but there was no malice in it, only a sort of delighted amusement. “I’ll say this for you, little fish,” he said, “time spent in your presence is never dull.”

“What will it take for you to pretend this never happened?”

“You need only ask, and I shall be the very soul of discretion.” He regarded me with a twinkle in his eye. “I can make no promises for your squire or my nephew, though, both of whom seem bent on informing the whole of Faerie before the evening is out.”

I groaned, thumping my forehead against his chest again. He kissed the top of my head, and went into the house; I could hear him chiding Raj and Quentin while May cackled like a banshee.

My phone startled me by ringing in my pocket. I always keep it on silent, when I can remember to keep it on me at all, but that didn’t stop it from making a gurgling, sucking sound like the tide going out over kelp-strewn sand. There was only one person with that kind of fondness for phone dramatics who would be calling me.

I put the phone to my ear. In all the time I’ve known the Sea Witch, she’s never called me - usually I’m the one calling her, and usually I end up paying for that call in blood. For her to be calling me, something dire must be happening.

There was a sound of crashing waves, and the call connected. “Toby?” the Luidaeg asked on the other end.

“Luidaeg? What’s wrong?”

“What’s this I hear about you arresting Beyoncé?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my ridiculous little fic. I saw Beyoncé a few months ago and my reaction was definitely like, "if you told me that Beyoncé was fae or a demigoddess or something, I would not be surprised."
> 
> The timeline on this is slightly fudged - this fic is set between _Once Broken Faith_ and _The Brightest Fell_ , making it October 2013. Beyoncé did play the SAP Center as part of the Mrs. Carter World Tour in 2013, but it was in December - also, "I Slay" is on _Lemonade_ , which came out several years later, but the idea of Toby in an I SLAY t-shirt was too much for me to pass up.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr \- I don't post a ton, but am trying to be better about it!


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